


Stray Dogs

by DecidedlyUndecidedly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, HannibaLibre, M/M, Murder Husbands, Murder Wives, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Thinly veiled threats, tense conversations, which aren't actually veiled at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecidedlyUndecidedly/pseuds/DecidedlyUndecidedly
Summary: "You always keep your promises.”“I do.”





	

From a distance, you might say they were a couple, they are clearly that particular kind of rich American tourist now occupying the streets of Havana, now Havana is a little less revolutionary and a little more like the rest of the world, American because – they could be European except there is a tension barely perceptible in the way they hold themselves, and the Europeans are skilled at insouciance. Havana doesn't feel much different to any number of European cities anyway, the poor ones, in the south, but Americans find collective memories of _missile crisis_ and _Bay of Pigs_ and _witch hunts – threats_ exposed in the sunlight; feelings of unease as unexpected and yet predictable as nausea are betrayed in their posture, and in laughter only a little forced.

He wears a pale blue linen suit, she a large hat which obscures her face and a white sun dress stained with red flowers. A little boy sits nearby, drawing. Not quite with them. He is used to being sent away to a distance close enough to be watched, but not close enough to hear what the adults are discussing, though they never raise their voices.

“It is good to see you Margot, I mean that honestly.”

Margot sips her drink and keeps watching her boy.

“Can't say the same to you, Doctor Lecter.”

Hannibal smiles.

“I suspected my feelings would not be reciprocated, but nevertheless I wanted you to know. I have always been honest” this gains him an incredulous, sideways look from Margot “in my own way.”

“And you always keep your promises.”

“I do.”

They sit in silence for a while, and you could call it companionable. For Margot, it is almost a relief. It reminds her of the time Morgan told her he had seen an enormous spider in the bathroom, big enough to scare him and he isn't usually scared of spiders, and it wasn't there when she looked. And she thought, well, maybe he was exaggerating. Then two weeks later, she opened the bathroom door and there it was, huge and ugly, seemingly unafraid of her: Now I have to deal with it. Less frightening than wondering whether it was still there.

She is brought back by a question from Hannibal.

“Tell me, what does he draw, your son?”

“Right now? I don't know, he doesn't like me to see until he's finished.”

“I mean in general.”

“Missing your practice, doctor?” She shrugs “Oh all sorts of things. Whatever he's obsessed with at the moment. Dinosaurs, outer space, medieval knights and castles. You know what kids are like – or, you're aware of what they're like, I know your first hand experience is – limited.”

“Do you know that?”

“I can guess. Am I wrong?”

“No, you aren't wrong. All these things rooted in the past. Even outer space – the light from distant stars takes thousands of years to reach us, I'm sure a bright boy like him knows that. Or perhaps I am reading too much into a list of subjects chosen at random.”

“No – you are as perceptive as ever. He likes history. He likes old things.” She looks at the row of cars parked opposite, the old Chryslers and Buicks from the 1950s. “He's enjoying himself here, actually.”

“I'm sure he is.”

The threat remains unspoken, as does its answer. Hannibal could take Morgan in his arms and crush him right now; Margot knows he won't risk doing it here, and in any case he would consider it unnecessary, inelegant. Hannibal could take Margot in his arms and crush her right now, but he is glad to see her, and while you can't say that there is anything Hannibal Lecter is incapable of, he is perhaps less capable of leaving a child orphaned than he is of most acts of cruelty. 

“Where is Alana?”

“She's not here.” Said immediately, tripping over the end of her wife's name.

“Then why can I smell her on you? Don't try to tell me it's from before you left, it's too strong for that.”

Margot smiles that winning smile, her checkmate smile, as she pulls a chain from between her breasts, dangling the vial of blood in front of him.

“Alana doesn't travel much these days, you never know who you're going to bump into after all, but she's always close to my heart.”

“It's not only blood I smell.”

She turns her head and lifts her hat. You would have to look closely to realise that the twist of hair around the base of her ponytail is darker, much darker than the rest, in sunlight as well as in shadow.

“To throw you off the scent. We are aware of your positively canine sense of smell. Speaking of which, how is Will Graham? You're together, I presume.”

Hannibal's eyes narrow.

“We are.”

She could send someone to hurt Will, he knows that, and the thought fills him with rage. The only person who should hurt Will is Hannibal, and he will defend that right to the death.

“Has he adopted any dogs recently? Does he pick up strays wherever you take him?” She tilts her head to one side, licks her lips. “Or perhaps he doesn't feel the need, now he has you.”

“If we are going to make innuendoes about domestic animals, Margot, I can think of a million things to say about you and your wife.”

“I would have thought that was beneath you, doctor.”

“You would be surprised.”

They part amicably, all things considered.

***

A balcony, some distance away, looking down on the square with the row of Chryslers and Buicks. A man standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, a woman leaning on the railing. Both wearing sunglasses so they can't look into each other's eyes, her hair longer again now than when he saw her last, and he can almost believe in another world, where they are here together and murder is far from their minds. But could that world have ever existed?

“This is risky, Alana.”

No. It is a fantasy on every level.

“I know.”

“You shouldn't really trust me to –”

“I know.”

“So why – you think I won't tell him you're here?”

“I'm certain you won't. I've misjudged you in the past, Will, but I'm sure I can take you at your word. On this, at least.”

Will turns to face her and frowns, about to chastise her, tell her she's mad for trusting in him now he has given up even pretending to be good. But she is right. He won't tell.

“Don't get too close, he'll – he'll know you've been here, been with me.”

“He'll sniff me out.” She smiles and looks up at the sky. “Have you got any dogs here, Will? There are plenty of strays.”

“Oh I wish. That'd be nice. No, I can't keep them. It would be cruel to let them depend on me and then – disappear like that.”

He knows it is useless and hypocritical of him to talk about cruelty but then – people love their dogs and eat burgers. Give money for victims of war crimes using phones containing minerals from the mines that fund the wars. He has given up trying to keep his balance sheet clean, though he thought redemption of a kind might be possible long after everyone else had considered him damned. Now he goes with his gut, his heart. And finds it difficult to let go of any creature that loves him.

“Your dogs were always so well-trained. When you were – when I took them in I thought I was crazy, what the hell was I thinking taking in seven dogs, but they were surprisingly easy to deal with. I appreciated that.”

Will shrugs.

“I just let them follow their nature. Within limits.”

“And what about Hannibal. Is he following his nature?”

“Within limits.”

“Your limits?”

He picks at paint flaking off the railing. He is not used to being questioned like this anymore, and it is unwelcome. Were he able to bear this conversation, he would return to the world of the living, but most of the time now his mind is calm and he doesn't care if that is a defeat. 

“Do you punish him if he misbehaves?”

“In a sense.”

“How?”

“Same way you did. Indignity.”

“And what do you make Hannibal do that's undignified?”

Easy to imagine this is just gossip, just teasing, and nothing has any consequence.

“Not what you're thinking of. That's not – we don't have that kind of relationship, honestly.” Down below, Hannibal and Margot are still talking. Everyone's adrenaline has dissipated in the heat, and the present danger feels like a minor annoyance. A life and death situation has a very different meaning these days to all involved parties. Will takes a breath. “I expected to be dead by now. And I'm not. So this feels like –”

“Borrowed time.”

“No, not that. More like – like I'm a ghost. Most people can't see me. And my actions – whether they have an effect or not, that effect is minor at best. This isn't my world to influence.”

Alana snatches up her bag, reaches in to check she has all her essentials, money, phone, keys, weapons.

“There are those of us who would benefit from your influence, Will.”

And she leaves without saying goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://fannibaling.tumblr.com/post/153484926883/what-if-cuba-is-margot-and-alanas-caribbean) from Fannibaling on Tumblr for the #HannibaLibre challenge. So thanks for that. This is the first fic I've written in about eight years - Hannibal drove me back into the loving arms of fandom. Come and say hi on Tumblr - I'm [to-fuel-your-radiance](http://to-fuel-your-radiance.tumblr.com/). Enjoy.


End file.
